Ordinary's Just Not Good Enough
by pepsicolagurl
Summary: Greg Sanders has always been an outsider to his co-workers. Are his recent mistakes a demand for attention or a serious cry for help? [COMPLETE]
1. Chapter One

Title- Ordinary's Just Not Good Enough Today  
Author- pepsicolagurl  
Rating- R for subject matter and occasional language  
  
Notes- Standard disclaimer. No affiliation, nothing is owned by me, and I am definitely not seeing any loonies coming my way (or the new ten dollar bill that looks like a coupon...or Canadian Tire money). The title is taken from the Our Lady Peace song, "Superman's Dead", from their CD, "Clumsy". All lyrics came from that song. Other than that...enjoy.  
  
Additional Note- If the characters seem a little...out of character, that's because I'm trying to look at everything through Greg's point of view. This is just how I think he sees everyone, so there may be a few slight differences.  
  
  
  
Chapter One  
  
// Do you worry that you're not liked  
How long 'till you break  
You're happy 'cause you smile  
But how much can you fake  
An ordinary boy  
An ordinary name  
But ordinary's just not good enough today //  
  
  
No one had taken notice of the dark circles under his eyes. Of course, they were almost a part of him now, something that he never thought that he would be rid of. And no one ever noticed how he took to yawning a lot, or rubbing his eyes. They were constantly dry and occasionally itchy, letting him now how long it had been since he had a full nights sleep. Or, in this case, a full days sleep. And no one had commented on how he wasn't paying all that much attention to what he was wearing...it was easier to just reach for jeans and a tee shirt than it was to decide what colors would horribly clash with each other for that day. They didn't notice that his hair was flat now, since he rarely had the energy to even look at the hair gel or any other styling product he used. In fact, no one ever mentioned anything about him.  
  
But he didn't have it as rough as everyone else. He knew that. His job consisted of sitting on the comfortable swivel chair, pushing it from machine to machine, and waiting for print-outs. He didn't have to run from location to location, question suspects, or work on some more tedious jobs, like trying to figure out how to put a broken window back together. If anything, he had it easy. Or, so he thought. Judging by the expression on the man's face, he was about to go out to the woodshed for a verbal whipping.   
  
"Greg?"  
  
His head moved in a nod before he yawned. "Yeah, I know, and I'm-"  
  
"Greg." This time it wasn't a question. It was more of a warning. He quickly shut his mouth and diverted his eyes down to the desk. Why did he suddenly feel like a scolded child? He definitely looked like one at the moment. "Have you been getting enough sleep?"  
  
For a moment, his eyes lit up. Someone had actually noticed that he wasn't himself? That was a surprise. He figured that no one had time to notice. Talk about a warm and fuzzy feeling. "Well...now that you mention it-"  
  
"Obviously not, because you don't make mistakes like this." That warm and fuzzy feeling immediately disappeared. "Maybe it isn't the lack of sleep that's your problem. Maybe if you did the job that you're paid to do rather than listen to music, this wouldn't happen." There was no need to protest. In reality, the CD player that was sitting on the edge of his desk hadn't been touched in a week or so. For all he knew, the batteries were dead, but he wasn't going to open his mouth and stand up for himself. There was no need. He made a mistake, and he knew it. He hadn't made a mistake in a long time. He had been working on a perfect record for the past few months, and he had most certainly never tested the wrong samples. That wasn't even a rookie mistake, in his mind. All the samples had been properly labeled...he had just been too tired to have the words on the label register in his mind. "Your shift ended five minutes ago. Go home, Greg, and when you come in tomorrow, make sure that this doesn't happen. Ever again."  
  
He simply nodded and waited until the man walked out before sighing and closing his eyes. "Sure, Grissom. By the way, I'm sorry," he said sarcastically to the empty room before standing up and shrugging off his lab coat. He walked to the back of the room, where a row of lockers sat, and opened up his, tossing the coat in the bottom without a care in the world. He snatched his off of the hook and slammed the door shut before refastening the lock and spinning the dial a few times.   
  
So, he had made a mistake. He knew that, and he had been dreading the lecture he was going to get from the shift supervisor. The lecture that he had already sat through. And it hadn't seemed like a big deal to anyone but Greg at the time. He had apologized to Catherine, ran the test again, and got her the results that she had wanted. No harm, no foul, right? Wrong, his mind screamed as he pushed his arms through his jacket and started out of the room and down the hallway, avoiding everyone else's eyes.  
  
They all knew. Gossip spread like crazy in the lab, and the worst part was, Greg knew that he couldn't even blame Catherine for what had happened. She wasn't one to gossip, and she hadn't even told Grissom about what had happened. She had come right up to the young man and warned him that "you-know-who is on the warpath because of you-know-what," but she had made herself perfectly clear that she hadn't said a word. He trusted her...there was no reason not to. She had even told him, when he noticed the mistake, that everyone had a bad day and it was nothing to freak out about. Apparently, she hadn't thought of the verbal beat-down that he had already gotten.   
  
With a yawn, he rubbed his eyes and pushed the door open, digging into his jacket pocket for his keys. Was he even in any condition to drive, he asked himself as he unlocked the driver's side door and climbed into the seat of the jeep. No, he probably wasn't, but he also wasn't going to bother anyone for a ride. Besides that, he didn't feel comfortable leaving the most expensive thing he owned in the parking lot. His jeep was his only means of transportation, and the buses didn't run late enough for him to get to work. And he couldn't afford to take a taxi back and forth every day.  
  
Whoever thought that he made a lot of money doing a job that required a lot of detail...well, they were crazy. The pay cheques that he received, immediately transferred to his back account, were barely enough to pay for his rent, his food, and all the rest of his assorted bills. Living alone wasn't as easy as he thought it would be. His parents paid his way through college, and he had lived in the dormitory every single term. But when he moved to Las Vegas, it was like his entire world, the world that he had become accustomed to, turned upside down.   
  
"I just had to be stubborn and refuse their money, didn't I?" he asked himself as he pulled out of his parking space. His parents had offered money, of course, and he turned them down. It was time for him to be on his own, to be self-sufficient. He didn't know at the time that it meant he would be wondering if he could get along without a phone line for a month, because he couldn't afford to pay the bill at the time. Cash advances were frowned upon before they kicked your ass out of the office and laughed at your stupidity, and he knew the people that he worked with well, but not well enough to ask for a small loan from one of them. Not to say that they wouldn't push some money his way. He was sure that they would, and they would know that he would pay them back as soon as possible. He just didn't have the courage to speak up and mention it.  
  
Besides, he thought as he began his twenty minute drive home, it wasn't like any of them were particularly concerned with his well-being or financial situation. They talked to him when they needed results on a test that he would run, and that was it. He had walked into the break room and heard Warrick ask Catherine about how her daughter was doing lately, or Sara tease Nick about how his favorite football team lost their game. They were comfortable around each other, and he was more like an outsider than anything. An outsider that could make them laugh occasionally, but an outsider nonetheless. They never asked him how he was doing, or what he did on his days off. Because he worked in the lab, and they worked out in the field. They saw him many times a night, but they never really SAW him, did they?  
  
It was almost like he was invisible or something. But he was always there when they needed him to be. When they needed an answer. They never gave him credit for a lot of the work that he did. Or, maybe they did, and he just never noticed. He wasn't really sure of anything at the moment. All he was sure of was the fact that he had a nice, soft bed, with nice, soft pillows waiting for him. That was all that mattered.  
  
Another yawn practically ripped his jaw in half as he pulled into his building's parking lot, and turned blindly into his normal space. Even in his half consciousness, he was careful not to scrape the car door beside him with his own as he got out and shut the door somewhat quietly. Some people were still sleeping, and he didn't dare wake up the people that lived below him. Once had been enough, he told himself, thinking back to the screams of protest from downstairs.   
  
He walked around the parking lot, keeping his feet on the cement as he looked down at the gravel that seemed to be everywhere at the complex. He couldn't help but wonder what would happen if he walked through that instead...but that idea disappeared quickly when he looked towards the window and saw the curtains shut tightly. Instead, he started up the steep set of stairs that led to the second landing. His eyes had been on the door on the left, and he looked over sharply when the door on the right slammed shut. He knew there was no way to avoid the slam...every door in the complex seemed to slam loudly...but he couldn't fault the kid that was standing on the carpet between the doors, looking at him.   
  
Forcing a smile on his face, he waved at her. "Good morning, Annie. Are you heading off to school?" he asked as he climbed the last few steps.  
  
The solemn little girl nodded. "Uh huh." She was silent for a moment, before she smiled slightly. "Good morning, Greg," she added, as if she had just remembered her manners.  
  
His eyes went back towards the door, expecting to see her mother or father walk out, to take her down the road and across the street to the bus stop. "Isn't your mom walking you this morning?"  
  
Her head shook, causing her wild hair to whip around her face. "She's still asleep." Before he could ask the next question, she continued. "Daddy didn't come home last night."   
  
Despite how tired he was, he walked over to her and motioned for her to sit down on the top step and hand over her backpack. "Well, do you mind if I walk you down to the bus this morning?" he asked, as he put her tiny pink backpack off to the side and opened the smaller compartment on it, taking out the brush and hair ties that were inside. This wasn't the first time that it had happened, and he knew that it would happen many more times. The truth was, her mother wasn't asleep, but passed out in the master bedroom, and her father probably hadn't come home, like she had said. He had heard them fight many times before, and every time they did, he couldn't help but wonder what was happening to the little girl that was usually on the swing set in the afternoon.  
  
He was careful as he brushed out her hair, something that her mother usually did, and quickly braided it into two pigtails before standing up and helping her put on the pink backpack again. "All right, let's go or we're going to miss your bus," he told her, as Annie took his outstretched hand to help her down the stairs on the other side. The girl chatted happily as he took her down the street and across to the other corner, where a large group of kids, the younger ones with their parents, were waiting.   
  
The bus came soon, and he waved good-bye to Annie as she climbed up the stairs before sighing and turning around to walk back to his apartment, the smile dropping from his face. His eyes were squinted from the early morning sun, and he stumbled as he turned towards the stairs. Greg stopped for a moment and frowned, looking down. There was nothing for him to stumble on, he thought to himself before shaking his head.   
  
"You have problems. Big ones," he told himself as he climbed back up the stairs and to the door, taking his keys from his pocket to unlock the door. He heard the brisk snap that he had become accustomed to, and stepped into the cool apartment, shutting the door and locking both the knob and the deadbolt before throwing his keys on the kitchen counter. He stopped in the doorway for a moment, debating whether or not he should eat before he slept. His stomach rolled at the thought of food, and he turned instead towards the one bedroom, looking at the mess he had left over the past few days.   
  
The little bit of energy he had left was used to take off his shirt and kick off his pants before climbing underneath the covers of his small bed, closing his eyes the moment his head hit the pillow. A few seconds later, he was asleep.  
  
**********  
  
His hand reached out, trying to find the button to shut off his alarm before his eyes snapped open in the darkness, looking around. It wasn't his alarm that was ringing...it would have done that five hours ago...but the phone beside the alarm clock. Rubbing his eyes, he turned on the lamp beside the bed and looked down at the Caller Identification box, before groaning and looking to see what time it was.   
  
"Shit!" he exclaimed. "No wonder Grissom is calling, I'm twenty minutes late." Greg practically tripped over the jeans he had left on the floor that morning as the phone stopped ringing. The least he could do was let Grissom think that he was on his way, he thought to himself as he reached down and pulled on the jeans he had worn yesterday, and snatched a shirt from the corner of the room as he ran into the bathroom.  
  
Less than five minutes later, he was out and running for his running shoes, pulling them on and leaving the laces untied as he picked up his keys and let himself out the door, stopping only long enough to lock it before it slammed shut behind him. He ran down the stairs, almost tripping over his own feet as he turned and raced towards his car.  
  
Within seconds, he was driving down the road, cursing himself every few seconds. His foot pressed down the gas pedal, and he ignored all the traffic signs, hoping to cut about five minutes off of his time. He managed to get by without a police car stopping him for speeding, and he pulled into the parking lot, barely stopping to lock up his vehicle as he jogged towards the door, and racing down the hallway towards the lab. He saw Grissom down the hall, with his back to Greg, talking to someone.   
  
Thanking whoever it was up there that was looking over him, he opened the door and let himself into the lab, hurriedly opening his locker as he ignored the looks he was getting from everyone. He threw his jacket in there and took his lab coat, slipping it over his shirt and clipping his photo identification on it before slamming the door shut and locking it, racing over to his usual chair.   
  
"A little late, Sanders?"  
  
"Oh, shut up," he mumbled under his breath as he pulled a pair of surgical gloves out of the box on the counter and pulled them over his hands, reaching for the samples that had been left on his desk to process. He looked up when the door opened, and he plastered a smile on his face. "Hey, Grissom."  
  
The man crossed his arms and looked down at him. "Greg. You're a little late, don't you think?"  
  
He nodded, letting out the breath he was holding as he tore into one of the envelopes, taking out a blood sample. He started to copy down the notes on the envelope and on the vial to a form in front of him. "Just a little." His mind started to race as he tried to come up with an excuse. "There was a problem with-"  
  
"Your alarm clock. I gathered that much," he continued, deadly serious. He opened his mouth to say something, as the door opened again, and Nick Stokes walked in, looking at the two of them. "At the end of your shift, I want to see you in my office." Greg nodded as he walked out, before sighing and falling back in his chair.  
  
Nick raised an eyebrow as he looked towards him. "You know, if you came in on time, you wouldn't get a lecture."  
  
"Thanks for the information," Greg shot back sarcastically, before shaking his head at the surprised looks he was getting. "What do you need, Nick?"  
  
The man nodded. "I wanted to know if you finished with that semen sample I left here yesterday, that's all."  
  
He put down what he was doing, and turned to look through the stack of results on the corner of his desk. "You got a name for me?" Turning to look at Nick, he shook his head slightly. "You know, a name that would be on the sample. Or something that I could use to find it."  
  
Nick frowned. "You usually keep track of this stuff. It should be under Stewart." Greg turned away and started to dig through the stack again, before finding the sheet that he was looking for, passing it over. "Thanks, man. Are you sure that you didn't make a mistake on this?" he asked cheekily before walking out with a chuckle.   
  
He stared after him, before shaking his head. Oh, that was all he needed to hear.  
  
**********  
  
Greg bounced the apple that he had stolen out of the break room in one hand, trying to decide what to do. It would be so easy for him to just slip out the door and pretend that he forgot that he was supposed to go to Grissom's office. Then again, he knew that he wasn't in high school anymore, and this wasn't like leaving the school before the principal could sit him down and lecture him about some prank that had been pulled. This was his job, Greg thought to himself as he took a bite of the apple and started down the hallway. He couldn't just run from all of his responsibilities now.  
  
But it sure seemed like a good idea.  
  
He had eaten half of the apple when he knocked on Grissom's closed door. That, by itself, was a surprise. It was almost always open, as far back as Greg could remember. The only time that it was closed was when he wasn't there...maybe there was hope yet. And he could have just been imagining that voice that told him to come him, he thought glumly as he stepped in and shut the door behind him. He walked towards the chair that was in front of the desk and sat down, flashbacks from all those meetings with his high school principal coming back. He caught the supervisor's look, and he smiled slightly. "Sorry, but I didn't have time to eat anything tonight. I spent my break trying to catch up on all the paperwork," he said, before taking another bite of the apple and leaning back.  
  
"And just why do you think that you had to spend your break, catching up on all that paperwork?" He wondered if he was going to get a full sentence out, but judging by the way his last few conversations with Grissom had gone, he highly doubted it. "Greg?"  
  
"Probably because I've had so many samples and tests to run, I don't have time to finish all the paperwork," he answered honestly. It was true. Every time he finished with one set of tests, and he settled down to complete the paperwork that would go in the file, someone dropped by with another sample for him, and the paperwork had been forgotten. It had been like that since the first day that he had started to work there. No one had complained before that the paperwork coming from him was rather slow, but it was always in there, and he usually logged in a few hours of overtime a month to finish up on everything that he hadn't done.   
  
Grissom nodded at his explanation. "Or could it have been because you were late today?"  
  
He didn't like the way that this was heading, but he couldn't stop himself from snapping back at him. "I was a half hour late. The world didn't stop turning because of that," he shot at him, before shaking his head. "Sorry, I'm not feeling that well today."  
  
"You had an excuse at the beginning of this shift. What was it?"  
  
He opened his mouth to recite the story that he had thought up, about there being some problem with his neighbor, before he shook his head. "I slept through the alarm, that's all," he said quietly, before leaning forward to drop the rest of the apple in the garbage can. It was going to be picked up in an hour, so there wasn't that much a concern about it. "I'm sorry. I know I set it, I just didn't wake up in time," he lied. The one hand that was hidden under his lab coat had crossed fingers.   
  
For a moment, the older man didn't say anything. He examined him, and then shook his head, sitting back. "Greg, you made a ridiculous mistake the other day...one that could have let a guilty man go free. And today, you're late because you slept through your alarm? That isn't acceptable." The crossed fingers weren't helping very much, he thought ruefully. "I'm going to apply the three strikes rule to this. You already have two."  
  
"Do balls count?" he asked, catching onto the baseball reference.   
  
"Let's put it this way, Greg. I want nothing but home runs from you, all right? One more screw-up, and I'll have no choice but to suspend you for two weeks until you can get your act together." He paused and looked at him. "You're the best lab technician that we have. Don't make me suspend you."  
  
He nodded and stood up. "Sure, Grissom," he said quietly. "Is that everything?"  
  
He was excused quickly, and walked back to the lab slowly, thinking about what he had said. As if the lecture hadn't been embarrassing enough, he almost resented the remark about the 'home runs'. The message was clear enough, but it still hurt. He wasn't some sort of machine that just churned out the right answers to all of their questions. Everyone made mistakes, he told himself, shaking his head as he let himself back into the lab and walked over to his locker. Switching his lab coat for his jacket, he turned away, not even realizing that he left his locker open as he walked back out.   
  
Turning his head, he looked back down the hallway in the direction of Grissom's office, before he sighed. This definitely wasn't his week. 


	2. Chapter Two

Title- Just Not Good Enough  
Author- pepsicolagurl  
Rating- R for subject matter and language  
  
Notes- Same disclaimer as before.  
  
  
  
Chapter Two  
  
// Do you worry that you're not liked  
How long 'till you break  
You're happy 'cause you smile  
But how much can you fake  
An ordinary boy  
An ordinary name  
But ordinary's just not good enough today //  
  
  
Turning on the shower, he started to shed his clothes, dropping them on the floor without a care in the world. Greg looked to make sure that his towel was sitting where he had left it before he pushed back the shower curtain and stepped in, almost immediately wincing at the temperature. Despite how long he lived in the apartment, he never got used to how the water would change temperature whenever he wanted it to. The last thing he wanted to do was try and figure out how to make it the way he liked it, and he figured that the water was at least bearable. At least it wasn't ice cold, like last time, he told himself, as he stepped under the stinging spray.  
  
Never before in his life had a hot shower felt so good to him. It was the equivalent of a hot bowl of chicken soup when he was sick. The muscles in his shoulders loosened from their usual tight position, a side effect of hunching over his work, something that he had become accustomed to. He stood there for a moment, not moving. It was as if he could feel all the tension in his body just draining away.   
  
But he also didn't have time for the one hour shower that he was famous for when he was younger. He had to be at work in an hour and a half, and he wanted to have time to eat something. One of the many things he had been neglecting as of late, he thought to himself as he reached for the bottle of shampoo.  
  
Everything was going fine for him, until he brought his head back from underneath the water, after he had finished rinsing his hair. For a moment, the wall of the shower seemed to swim, and small black spots appeared before his eyes. Taking a deep breath, he reached out and pressed one hand against the wall, closing his eyes. He knew that the wall wasn't going to be much support if he did fall, and judging by the way he had started to sway, that was almost definite. But just as soon as the sensation had started, it stopped. He opened his eyes and looked around. Nothing was moving, and everything was the way that it had been before.   
  
He shook his head and reached for the taps, shutting off the water as he stood there. It was probably just the temperature of the water, he told himself. He wasn't used to having such a hot shower, and the steam had probably become too thick for him.   
  
"Nothing big," he told himself as he pushed back the curtain and reached for his towel, wrapping it around his waist before gingerly stepping out and moving to stand in front of the mirror. He used his hand to wipe off the steam, and looked at a blurry version of himself, blinking his eyes a few times. He hadn't remembered looking that pale before, he thought. Normally, he had a slight tan, from the amount of time that he was up during the day and outside. He tanned rather easily, and he always had a little extra color in his face. But now...now he was white, an exact duplicate for Casper the Friendly Ghost.  
  
Shaking his head, he turned away from the mirror and opened the bathroom door, allowing the steam to escape as he walked to the kitchen, his wet feet leaving marks on the floor. At that point, he could care less. Instead, he opened up the fridge and dug around for a moment before finding a bottle of Gatorade in the back. He opened it and took a few sips, making a face. He took a banana from the counter and hurriedly peeled it, taking a bite. Obviously, he hadn't eaten enough, he thought as he quickly inhaled the fruit, turning only to toss the peel into the garbage can. He needed something more substantial to eat, but that would have to wait until he got dressed.  
  
And he definitely wasn't driving today. He figured that if that could happen in the bathroom, it could just as easily happen while he was driving. He tried to remember if anyone on the same shift lived anywhere near him, and he knew that someone did, but his mind came up empty as he pulled on a fresh pair of jeans and reached for a shirt. He supposed that he could break down, just that one time, and take a taxi to work. It would hurt, and probably put a nice dent in his wallet, but it was better than trying to hitchhike to work.   
  
He looked towards the clock as he finished buttoning his shirt and swore under his breath. He had taken longer than he thought he would have, and even if he called for a taxi that very moment, he would be a few minutes late. That was something that just couldn't happen. Grissom had told him, one more time, and he would have a two week suspension to deal with. Two weeks with no money wouldn't help his situation any, he figured, as he walked over to the phone.   
  
The first call he made was to a taxi company. They promised that the car would be there in twenty minutes, but that didn't ease his mind any. The second call he made was to Grissom, and he couldn't help but laugh when the voicemail was picked up immediately. "Well, it's not my fault that he doesn't turn on his phone until he's in the lab," he said to himself, before waiting for the usual beep. "Hey, Grissom, it's Greg. Look, I just found out that my car isn't working, so I had to call a taxi to come in. I might be a few minutes late...just wanted you to know."  
  
He hung up and let out the deep breath he had been holding. Maybe the message wouldn't help, and he sure as hell didn't feel great about lying, but there was nothing that he could do about it now. He shook his head and stopped in the kitchen long enough to pick up his wallet, checking to make sure that he would have enough money, but he let himself out. As soon as he stepped outside, he could hear the raised voices coming from next door and couldn't help but shake his head. That was the least of his concerns at the moment, he thought, as his door slammed shut and he hurried down the stairs towards the front of the complex.   
  
It was only then that he realized that he hadn't eaten anything else.  
  
**********  
  
Stepping out of the car, he started to walk towards the entrance, only to find someone right at his elbow. "Something wrong with your car, Greg?"  
  
He looked towards the woman and smiled slightly. "I suppose you could say that," he answered, as much of a lie as it was. It wasn't so much a problem with the car as it was a problem with the driver, he thought to himself. For some reason, it didn't seem all that funny. "You're cutting it pretty close, aren't you, Catherine?" he asked, looking down at his watch. They had a minute before they were supposed to be there. Talk about good timing.  
  
She nodded. "Yeah, well, that's what happens when the downstairs toilet decides to start over-flowing. The only reason anyone goes in there is to clean the bathroom, and yet that's the one that decides to have a bad hair day." Catherine Willows laughed to herself as Greg opened the entrance door for her, following behind her. "I didn't know how difficult it was to fix the damned thing."  
  
"Did you fix it?" he asked, as they turned down the same hallway.   
  
At first, she nodded, but then quickly shook her head. "I really don't know. It stopped, but I think that's because I broke something. You're...not supposed to just hit everything in there with a monkey wrench, are you?"  
  
Whistling under his breath, he shook his head slowly. "Nope, don't think so. I-" He broke off and shook his head. "Sorry, I kind of lost my train of thought there," he said softly as he blinked his eyes a few times. The black spots were back, and so was the dizziness. He cursed himself for not taking the time to grab something more to eat.   
  
Catherine stopped and looked closely at him. "Greg...are you okay? You look a little pale."  
  
He nodded. "I think so. It's just this cold that's been going around. I'll be fine in a little while...hopefully," he muttered under his breath. Maybe that's all it really was, a bit of a cold that was starting. That would explain a lot, he figured.   
  
"There's nothing wrong with your car, is there?" she asked quietly, a bit of a smile coming to her face. "Well, at least you realize when you can't drive. Not a lot of people do that," she continued.  
  
He shook his head. "Whatever you do, don't tell anyone that. I figured that I was going to be late, so I left a message with Grissom, telling him that my car broke down. I'm not looking for three lectures in three days, thank you anyway," he told her, running a hand through his still damp hair.  
  
She nodded with a bit of a brighter smile. "Don't worry about it. Why didn't you just call me for a ride, though? I live just down the road from you." When he didn't say anything, she nodded. "It doesn't matter now. But when this shift it over, wait for me at the entrance. I'll give you a lift. I don't exactly trust some of those taxi drivers. Just wait for me, all right?"  
  
If she hadn't been standing there, he would have let out a sigh of relief. He definitely didn't have enough cash for a taxi home, and what was left in his bank account had already been reserved for phone, electric, and car insurance. Anything left over was groceries. The offer of a ride home was probably one of the best deals he had heard in a long time. "Thanks, Catherine."  
  
She smiled again. "No problem. And Greg, if you are getting sick, don't be stubborn like last time. Take something."   
  
He nodded and thanked her again before walking into the lab and to his locker. He couldn't figure out why the door was left open, but he didn't question it as he did the usual ritual of switching one coat for another, going over to his chair. He sighed and immediately started on the left-over paperwork that he still had to do.   
  
A good twenty minutes into it, someone walked in, causing him to look up at the person that stopped in front of him. "Hey, Sara. You want something new, something old...something borrowed or something blue?"  
  
"Nice," she said with a bit of a smile. "Something old will do. I dropped off something yesterday and-"  
  
"And you want to know if I'm done with it," he said, immediately looking through what he had. The name Sara Sidle jumped out at him, and he pulled it out, looking it over. "Paternity test, right? I'm short on cigars, but congratulations, it's a girl," he told her, before reaching for the pen he had been using, scrawling his signature at the bottom and handing her the paper so that she could look at it.   
  
Her smile intensified until it was a grin. "Thanks, Greg," she said, before looking down at her beeper. "Do you mind if I leave this with you right now? I'm needed."  
  
"You're always needed," he said, taking the paper back. "No problem. It'll be here when you need it. Have fun."  
  
"Sure," she shot back, as she left the room.  
  
**********  
  
"Maybe it's just the light out here...but you look worse than you did before," Catherine said, squinting her eyes as she examined him closely.   
  
"I thought that fluorescent light was supposed to make you look worse," he said with a yawn, before giving her a small smile. "I'm fine, believe me. I just need some sleep." She nodded at his assessment and unlocked the doors to the Camry that she drove when her shift was over. "Nice car, by the way."  
  
She made a face as they both settled into the seats. "A Mustang it's not, but I suppose it's sensible. It just screams divorced mother, doesn't it?" she asked after a beat.  
  
Despite how tired he was, Greg managed a laugh. "No...a Mustang is more of a sign that you're a divorced mother that soaked all the money out of her ex-husband. Or maybe a Sebring convertible. Does Ford have a Sebring convertible?"  
  
"Uh...Chrysler makes the Sebring, and they do have a convertible. We've gone from Toyota, to Ford, to Chrysler. To add even more to it, you're babbling and it's starting to border on incoherence."  
  
"It's a rare talent. You should appreciate it. I've become an expert at incoherent babbling...it's keeping me awake, Catherine. It's either me babbling away, or falling asleep to the point where you wouldn't be able to wake me up for another ten hours. Your decision."  
  
"Keep talking," she told him with an amused smile. So, he did. He managed to babble his way through the fifteen minute drive home, breaking off his constant stream of words occasionally for her to answer him, or to answer her questions about which way to turn. He hadn't realized that she didn't know exactly where he lived, she only knew what general area he lived in. That much was apparent by the low whistle she let out when she pulled up to the back alley of the apartment complex. "You live here? I always figured you for a studio apartment kind of guy."  
  
He smiled ruefully and reached to release his seat belt. "To paraphrase you, the Ritz Carlton it's not, but I suppose it's sensible. It's not too bad, if you ignore the fact that it's run by a piece of slime." He caught her look and shook his head. He had said too much already. "Thank you for the ride, Catherine. I really appreciate it."  
  
"No problem," she said with a shrug. "If you need a ride tomorrow, Greg, call me. You know my number." She waited until he was climbing out of the passenger seat to speak again. "And take some medication, would you? It won't help us any if you land yourself in the hospital because you're too stubborn to take a pill."  
  
"Gotcha," he said with a faint smile, waving to her as she pulled away. He dug the keys out of his pocket and dropped the smile, starting up the stairs to his apartment. He could hear loud voices, albeit slightly muffled by the thick door, across the way from his apartment, causing him to roll his eyes. The least they could have done was waited until Annie, their little girl, had gone to school because they started screaming at each other again, he thought to himself as he unlocked his door.  
  
As soon as he let himself in, he leaned up against his door and closed his eyes for a moment. There was no doubt in his mind that he wasn't going to call Catherine for a ride tomorrow. He didn't know her number, like she had said, and besides, once was more than enough, and whatever was bothering him, he was sure he could shake off by tomorrow night. After all, it was his last shift before the weekend, the two days off that he longer for more than anything in his life. He had already made a promise to himself that he wouldn't let himself do anything but sleep and eat everything in sight...or everything that he could afford.  
  
When the word sleep came to him mind, he listened to the desperate cry and kicked off his shoes as he stumbled towards the bedroom. Just a few hours, and then he would wake himself up for something to eat. He remembered to set his alarm clock this time, making sure to wake up two hours beforehand for at least a piece of fruit before he could sleep a little more.   
  
He didn't have time to cross his fingers and hope to hell that he would wake up before his head hit the pillow, and he was asleep again.  
  
  
**********  
  
  
Greg whimpered to himself as he fought his way out of the deep sleep that he had been in, reaching one hand out to slap it down on the alarm clock, hoping that he hit the right button. Forcing his eyes open, he looked at the time, wondering why the hell he had woken himself up up two hours earlier than normal. But his stomach gave him the answer when it growled loudly from underneath the covers. "Right, food," he whispered sleepily to himself, his mouth opening so wide for a yawn, it felt like his jaw had been ripped off of the rest of his face.  
  
Throwing the covers off of him, he stood up and stretched his arms above his head. Almost immediately, Greg fell backwards onto the bed again, clutching his head in an attempt to get rid of the dizziness. He took a deep breath and tried to wait it out. For less than a second, he was sure that he was going to black out, but just as quick, the sensation died away and left him with a pounding headache. "This is all I need," he said to himself, standing up slowly and testing his body, making sure that he wasn't going to almost pass out again.  
  
When it seemed to be safe, he took the first few cautious steps towards his closed bedroom door. He opened it slowly and suddenly shivered. It shouldn't have been that cool in his apartment, especially at this time of the year. Yes, he knew that it was basically the desert, but it was always warm in his apartment in this month. Rather than worry about the sudden change in temperature, he reached for a pair of nearby jeans and pulled them on, as well as a nearby sweatshirt. He wrapped his arms around himself and walked out to the kitchen, opening the fridge to look inside. He made a face at what little he had in there, and hunted around for a moment before he found something that looked slightly appetizing. An apple was better than nothing, he figured, as he decided to forego washing it and just rubbed it on his sweatshirt before taking a bite. He stood at the kitchen counter, devouring the fruit, almost inhaling it. When he was done, he threw the apple core towards the open garbage can and banked it off of the lid, causing it to slam shut after the core fell in. "Not bad," he said to himself, before opening the fridge and taking out another apple.   
  
This one lasted him a little longer, and once it was finished, he decided not to go back to sleep. There was a good chance that he would wake up late for his shift again, and that was the last thing that he needed. He managed to stay on the good side of Grissom the day before, something that he hadn't done for a long time, and so far, he was still coping with those two strikes that he had against his name. He could only hope that he would wait it out long enough for Grissom to forget about that, and let Greg work without wondering if he was going to be suspended or not.  
  
Sighing to himself, he picked up a newspaper from the stack that he had left on the small kitchen table. It had been a long time since he had actually read the paper, and he almost considered canceling his subscription and not getting another one, just to save a measly forty dollars a year, not that it would help him all that much. He had just picked up all the papers that ended up on his doorstep and threw them inside, vowing to get through them one day. He really didn't care about the older papers, he already knew what happened in the world on those days, but reading that day's paper was at least something to keep his mind occupied before work.  
  
Greg was very methodical about reading the newspaper. He took out the entertainment section first and laid it off to the side. Sports came next, laying ontop of the entertainment news. That was followed by the technology section. The financial pages were tossed in a separate pile, since he never read them, and now, he was only left with the actual news in his hands. Once he finished that, he would go down the stack of papers in order. He figured that by the time he got to the entertainment news, it would be time for his shower and he would still have enough time to get dressed and drive to work, with ten or so minutes to spare.  
  
There was only one problem with his plans, and that was something that he hadn't even thought about. By the time he finished reading the technology section, it felt like the apples he had eaten earlier weren't too happy in their new home. He swallowed thickly and tried to ignore the nausea that was rising, refusing to let anything disrupt his already planned out schedule. Two pages into the sports section, and he couldn't deny it any longer. His snack just didn't want to stay in his stomach.  
  
He managed to get into the bathroom in time, and coughed up what he had eaten that day, which wasn't much. His eyes were still closed when he flushed the toilet, moving to lean against the cabinets under the bathroom sink. Maybe he had caught some sort of bug, he thought to himself. He knew that he was just trying to find a way to make himself feel better from lying to Catherine the other night, but he couldn't deny that he didn't feel like he normally did. His hand came up to wipe the sweat off of his forehead before he heaved again. There was nothing left in his stomach to actually come up, and he had never been that thankful for dry heaves before.  
  
He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, refusing the feeling that he should stand up and examine himself in the mirror. He really didn't want to know what his reflection looked like, but for now, he was going to ignore the rest of the newspaper and wait awhile before taking his shower.   
  
Still, he couldn't push down the feeling that there was something seriously wrong with him. 


	3. Chapter Three

Title - Ordinary's Just Not Good Enough

Author - pepsicolagurl

Rating - R for language

Disclaimer - Same as always, see Chapter One.

Author's Notes - I'm back! And yes, I'm continuing the story. I won't get into the long version of why it took so long, but suffice to say that I'm keeping the story the same way it already was (I lost the other version. Sorry). If you're still interested, enjoy and let me know what you think!

----------

Do you worry that you're not liked  
How long 'til you break  
You're happy 'cause you smile  
But how much can you fake

An ordinary boy  
An ordinary name  
But ordinary's just not good enough today

----------

Chapter Three

Warrick Brown walked into the break room, a confused look on his face. "Hey, have you noticed anything strange about Greg lately?" he asked the woman standing at the counter, pouring herself a cup of coffee.

Catherine looked up and shrugged. "Nothing more than usual. He seems a little tired, that's all," she told him, adding a bit of sugar to the liquid and stirring it. She pulled the plastic stir stick through her lips and threw it in the garbage can by her foot. "Why, has he said anything to you?"

"Said anything? He snapped at me. I stopped by to leave a sample with him, and het old me something about how many times he has to say that he needs something to compare it with, when all I was going was getting him to store it for me before I found anything for comparison. He didn't even give me a chance to explain."

A slightly worried look entered her eyes before it immediately disappeared, and she smiled. "He's probably just over-worked. It happens to the best of us, and besides, he mentioned something about how he thought he was coming down with the flu. I don't think anyone is really cheerful when they have the flu."

The man looked confused for a moment. "Didn't the whole department get flu shots this year? I mean, we do every year."

She nodded. "Yes, but Greg usually finds a way out of it. A lot of people do, you just don't realize it. I think he skipped his last year, too. He usually says that he already got one from his doctor, so he doesn't need a second one. Lies about it every year." She grinned. "So, I guess that's a warning to duck for cover when I head down there, huh?"

"Big warning."

----------

Rubbing his eyes, Greg stifled a yawn, looking back down at the paper on his desk. The words had started blurring together a few minutes before, and they still weren't clearing up. He sighed, wondering if he needed reading glasses as he tipped his head back and closed his eyes, sinking further into the comfortable chair. His moment of solace was interupted almost immediately by the opening of the door.

He opened his eyes slightly and looked towards Catherine, before sitting up a little more straight. "What do you need?" he asked with a resigned tone, waiting for her answer.

"You, to come with me. It's your break, Greg. You're not going to spend it in here. Besides, I have a surprise for you in the break room," she said with a smile. "And you look like you could use a cup of coffee."

He looked at her warily. Never before had he been asked by anyone to join them for his break, but he decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth and stood up. "I can't argue with that," he said slowly, pushing his chair back in. Catherine waiting for him to come around the desk before she pushed open the door for him to walk out. "A little bit of role reversal?" he asked her, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

She laughed. "I've always been independant," she said, catching his reference to her holding the door open, rather than him doing it for her. She fell in step with him, glancing up occasionally to look at his face during the short walk to the break room. "You know, you should get out a little more. You've lost most of your tan."

He nodded, but decided not to comment as he opened the door to the break room, letting her go in first this time. "So, where's this surprise that you told me about?"

"It's nothing big, but I figured that you could use it. Especially since you were planning on hiding away in the lab during your break." She nodded towards the table. "It's obvious that you've got the flu or something just as bad, so I was nice enough to go out and get you what you need."

He chuckled lightly as he sat down at the table." A bowl of chicken soup. I didn't think that anyone noticed I wasn't feeling well." Although that was the truth, he was more concerned about the fact of whether or not he would be able to keep the soup down. The apples he had eaten hadn't, why would the soup?

The woman frowned as she poured herself a cup of coffee and reached into the small fridge, digging out a container of orange juice and pushing it over to him. "You...told me yesterday. Don't you remember?"

He paused from where he was about to dip the spoon into the steaming liquid, looking up at her with a confused look. It cleared instantly, and he shook his head with a rueful smile. A headache started to flare up with the movement. "Yeah, you're right. I'm not all there, I guess." Falling silent, he finally dipped the spoon into the soup and brought it close to his lips, blowing gently. He could tell that Catherine was watching him as he ate the first spoonful. "Where did you get this, anyway?" he asked.

She shrugged. "I made it, believe it or not. Lindsey wasn't feeling well, either, so she and I had some for dinner, and there was enough left for me to bring to work. I figured that you could use it more than anyone," she answered before taking a seat across the table from him, sighing lightly. "Greg, do you mind if I say something? Something that you probably won't like?" Catherine very rarely took the delicate approach with anyone, but she had to admit that she knew very little about Greg, although she probably knew more about him that anyone else in the building. Hell, she seemed to be the only one that knew where he lived.

"Go for it," he said in a neutral tone, although he could just imagine what she was going to say. He braced himself for the blunt comment that was about to come from the older woman.

"You look like shit," she told him, nodding with her assessment. "Sorry, that's probably a little more harsh than I would have liked that to come out as, but it's true. I know that you say you're sick, but...maybe it's just me, but you really look like you've got one foot in the grave and just waiting for someone to come and push you all the way in."

"Never heard that one before," he returned mildly, shaking his head. "It's probably just hitting me more than usual, that's all."

Her eyebrows quirked as they slowly went up, not believing his words. "You're dressing like a normal person, you're talking like a normal person, you're working like a normal person...you're not the Greg we all know and love. Are you sure that there's nothing going on at-" She broke off when her pager suddenly went off, and she sighed, looking at it. "All right, look. Don't you dare leave this building," she continued. "At least, not until I get back. This conversation isn't finished."

He waved her away and listened as she walked out the door. He waited until he figured that she was far enough down the hallway that she wouldn't be able to see him before he dropped his head in his hands and closed his eyes, the pounding in his head getting worse and worse. He had a bottle of aspirin stashed near the back of his locker, he knew, and at the moment, that seemed to be his only solace.

The bowl of soup was empty, and he threw away the styrofoam, before reaching for the carton of orange juice that she had left on the table, opening it and slugging it back as quickly as he could. That container ended up in the same place as he stood up, clutching the table when the familiar feeling of dizziness enveloped him. "Not now, not now," he muttered to himself, closing his eyes and waiting for it to dissipate.

Once it did, he took a few cautious steps towards the door and let himself out, reminding himself that it wouldn't do any good to stumble, much like his body wanted to. For a moment, Greg wasn't sure that he could control his feet enough to make him walk in a straight line.

No, it wouldn't do any good at all.

----------

He didn't wait around to see if Catherine still wanted to talk to him. He could only hope that she had forgotten about him, he told himself, as he slowly made his way down the hallway to the exit. He pulled his jacket a little closer around him, wondering to himself if they were ever going to turn the heat on in the building. Yet, at the same time, he wasn't sure why he seemed to be sweating.

Shaking his head, he turned the corner and was surprised when he heard a voice calling out his name. He turned slowly, looking behind him, and swore under his breath when he noticed who it was. There were only two reasons as to why Grissom wanted to talk to him again, he figured. Either he wanted some sort of test results, or he was going to bust him for not doing his job, which Greg already knew would end in a two week, no pay, suspension. The last thing that he needed.

He let himself into the dark office, biting his lip anxiously when he was told to close the door behind him. That was never good, he had learned that the week before. Greg kept his eyes towards the ground, trained on his feet, as he walked towards the empty chair in front of the desk and gratefully sunk into it, looking at Grissom.

The older man regarded him for a second, before nodding. "You've been doing good lately, Greg," he began.

"Good enough not to warrant a suspension?" he asked in return, his eyes brightening with the prospect.

For a moment, he thought that Grissom was going to smile. Instead, he just shook his head. "Good enough not to warrant a suspension." After repeating his words, he looked towards Greg with a little more curiosity. "But you have almost run out of overtime pay."

Fidgeting slightly in the chair, he nodded as well. "Yeah, I've been catching up on all the old paperwork. I finished it today, so there's nothing left on my desk." He paused and debated on whether or not to ask him a question that had been at the back of his mind throughout the entire evening. He knew that it was the only way to get the suspicion off of him, especially when it came to Catherine. "I was wondering...it would be all right for me to take a day off, wouldn't it?"

"Why?"

Relief flooded throughout his body. "I haven't really been feeling that well lately, and I just to see if I can sleep it away. I think it's the flu, but I'm not sure. I just figured that..." He trailed off. What did he figure? He just wanted to make sure that Catherine would stop bothering him about how he looked and how his work had been lately. It seemed like the best idea.

Grissom nodded slowly. "Of course."

Greg stood up and nodded towards the door. "Are we done? I've got to go and pick up a few things at the store before I head home."

"Go ahead," the older man told him, watching as he left his office. Greg walked out and let out one of the biggest sighs of relief that he could manage. Not only was he getting paid to sit around home, but if he took a day off, maybe Catherine would think that he had finally smartened up and was trying to get rid of whatever he had.

Still, he didn't know what the hell was wrong with him, he realized, as he let himself out of the building. He made his way over to his car quickly, the keys dangling from his hand as he continued to walk. The morning air was still a little cool, clearing his head instantly. He wasn't exactly a doctor, he couldn't diagnosis himself, but he couldn't help wishing that it was only the flu that was bothering him and nothing else.

"Maybe I don't need a doctor. I need a psychiatrist," he muttered to himself, as he unlocked the driver's side door and climbed in. As he sat down, another wave of dizziness passed over him, this one stronger than ever before. He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead towards the steering wheel, taking a deep breath. He could feel his heart beat becoming faster as he waited for the new spell to finish.

As soon as it did, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet, making a quick count of the money he had in there. It would be tight, but he figured that he'd be able to do it, as he climbed out of the car and sighed, locking the door again. A taxi was the only way he was getting back to his apartment that night.

----------

Catherine wasn't the happiest person on the face of the Earth, and God help anyone that tried to get in her way. A scowl was firmly planted on her face as she took a familiar turn, the apartment complex coming into sight as she muttered incoheratly under her breath. She had already dropped her daughter off at school, earlier than usual because she had a field trip that day, and now she was more than ready to let her anger take her over and visit Greg. She just didn't know how her visit would be the greatest stroke of luck in the young man's life.

As she pulled onto the side street that he had directed her to before, she found the guest parking lot and pulled into the small area, parking her car in one of the nine spots, all of which were empty. She got out of her car, remembering to lock it, before she stalked towards the set of stairs that she had seen him go up before. When she saw the little girl sitting on the steps, she immediately stopped and her expression softened.

"Hi," she called up to her, waving at the little girl as she climbed the stairs. "Do you know if this is Greg's apartment?" she asked, pointing to the door that she figured was his. The little girl nodded silently, regarding her with serious eyes. "Do you know if Greg is at home?"

Her head shook, just as silently. Catherine smiled slightly, and the young girl suddenly spoke. "I don't think he's at home. If he was, he would have walked me to the bus stop today," she said in a soft voice, looking towards the door opposite the one Catherine had pointed to. Her eyes followed the girl's, before she spoke again. "Are you a friend of Greg's?"

Catherine paused, before nodding. She wouldn't exactly call herself a friend of the young man's. They didn't know each other well enough for that,but for the girl sitting ont eh top stair, it would suffice. "Yes, we work together. I'm Catherine," she said. "And what's your name?"

"I'm not supposed to tell strangers my name."

She figured that she was going to run into that small roadblock, and instead, asked her a different question. "Well...why does Greg usually walk you to the bus stop?"

"Because Mommy is sleeping," she answered in the same soft tone.

A frown settled on Catherine's face as she started to realize what the girl had meant. She forced a smile back on her face quickly and looked down at the little girl. "Since Greg isn't here, and he can't take you, how about I walk you down? I promsie that you can trust me."

The girl seemed to consider the offer, before she nodded slowly and stood up. Catherine watched as she came down to the same step that she was standing on, before she looked towards the road. The woman followed her down the stairs and across the road to the corner, where a group of kids were already waiting for the bus that was just coming down the street. Catherine paused and then knelt down, looking at the little girl. "Can you do me a big favor? Do you know if greg hides a key anywhere near his apartment?"

She listened to the little girl's answer and then watched as she safely got on the bus. As soon as she was sitting in her seat, Catherine ran in front of the bus and back to the apartment complex, heading back up the stairs. Her feet thudded loudly on the wooden stairs, and if Greg was at home, he was sure to hear it. Still, no sign of life came from the apartment. She sighed and moved to the door, knocking loudly on it a few times, waiting to see if anyone was going to come to the door. No one did.

Her brow furrowed as she moved to the end of the second floor landing and placed her hands on the fencing that surrounded it, leaning over as far as she dared to look into the residents parking lot. There was no car there that even resembled Greg's, but she vaguely remembered seeing it in the parking lot at work, when she had thought that he was still there. It had been a surprise to hear that he was gone and left his car there, for no apparent reason.

"Damn it," she said under her breath when she pulled her hand away and looked at the splinter udner her skin. She used her thumb nail to push it up, and this time, used her foot to knock ont he door. It produced a more hollow sound, but still loud enough to get his attention. She really didn't care what his neighbors would think of her banging on his door in the morning.

But he still didn't answer. The anger that had consumed her on the drive over there quickly turned to a slow rising fear as she reached up to the light fixture beside the door, where the little girl had said that Greg kept a spare house key. She couldn't help thinking that it was ironic that she kept hers in the same place at her house, only that she also had a security system. She was pretty sure that he didn't have one in the apartment.

She grimaced as she picked her way through the cobwebs and finally found the key, bringing her hand down. She brushed away the creepy feeling she had whenever she touched a spiderweb and pushed the key in the door, hoping to hell that he hadn't locked the deadbolt, too. There was only one key up there and two locks on the door. She listened as the lock opened with a crisp snap, before she tried the doorknob. The door swung open easily, letting her in. She breathed a sigh of relief at the fact that she had gotten in, but at the same time, couldn't help but wonder what his reaction would be if he found out that she was in his apartment when he wasn't. If he wasn't there, of course, she thought to herself.

She walked in slowly, her footsteps muffled by the carpet that ran down the length of the small hallway, as she closed the door behind her. "Greg? It's me, Catherine," she called out, looking around for any sign of life. When nothing followed her words, she rolled her eyes and peeked into the kitchen. She was more than surprised to find out that it was spotless in there, save for three washed dishes in the drain rack on the counter. Her eyebrows raised, trying to remember the last time that she had seen a man's kitchen completely clean. Shaking her head, she took a few steps forward and pushed open the first door that she came to, being faced with a small storage closet. Besides a few well labeled boxes, there was nothing else in there.

Making a face, she closed the door and took another few steps, pushing open the next door. His kitchen may have been spotless, but his bedroom was a complete mess. There were clothes thrown all over the place, the bed wasn't made, and a few books and magazines had been thrown wherever he thought there was room. But he still wasn't in there. Sighing, she closed that door as well, and moved onto the next, right in front of her, the bathroom. The door had already been open, and there was nothing to see in there, she found out, once she flipped the switch and flooded the room with light. She turned it off just as quickly and spun on her heel, facing the open living room.

The same dull white paint that adorned every other wall that she had seen was just as scuff marked in that room. One old, but no doubt comfortable couch was pushed against a wall, and an arm chair was just off to the side of it. A television in teh corner, carpet in the middle of the hardwood floor...it looked like any other apartment that a young man would own. The dining room, if it could be called that,w as just around the corner. There was nothing out of place with the small table and assorted chairs, or the microwave against the wall. Rolling her eyes, she laughed to herself when she realized that she was acting too concerned, before she walked through the kitchen on the way to the front door to let herself out. She was about to, when she paused and looked towards the living room again, before she started to move in that direction.

She knew that her memory wasn't leaving her yet, she wasn't that old. And if she would have had to testify in court, she knew that she could truthfully say that the jacket that was currently on the arm of the couch was the same one that Greg had worn to work that day, and the pair of shoes that were hidden under an end table were also the shoes that he had worn to work. She immediately reached into her purse and pulled out a slim cell phone, looking through her directory, before she found the number of Greg's pager. She hit the button and waited a moment, to see if she could hear it. She knew that if his pager wasn't heard in the apartment, he wasn't there. He took it every where with him, whether he was supposed to be at work in a few hours or not, if only for the fact that he never knew when he would be called in.

Her heart stopped beating for a second when she heard the sound that she didn't want to hear, his pager, coming from somewhere in the small apartment. She lowered the phone and followed the sound, before she came tio his bedroom door again. Hesitantly, she swung it open and reached for the light switch, blinding herself for a moment. The noise was louder, and she followed it around to the side of the bed that she couldn't see from the door way, before her eyes widened in shock.

She uttered words that she hadn't said in a long time. Having her daughter around her, for the most part, had stopped her from cursing, and it wasn't too often that she let a swear word or two slip out of her mouth outside of work. But this was different.

"Holy shit."


	4. Chapter Four

Title- Ordinary's Just Not Good Enough

Author- pepsicolagurl

Rating- PG13 for language (yes, the rating changed)

Disclaimer- The usual shtick. Everyone knows it by heart. See Chapter One for more details.

Author's Notes- Wow, I'm back. Can you believe it? Way back on New Years, I had the new chapter beta-ed, and even though it helped immensely (thanks again to **Byrnstar**, who beta'ed the original version of the chapter, and **Dame Flame**, for not only putting up with me when we write together, but also for beta'ing this version of the chapter). Thank you to everyone who's reviewed since then, and guess what...I LIED! There's going to be more than just this one last chapter. Yeah, I'm a glutton for punishment. And before I forget, any medical information came straight from the Merck Manual of Medical Information (Home Edition), and the BC Health Guide ('cause, you know, I'm from British Columbia. It would make sense that I own the damned thing). Any mistakes are my own, unless I meant them. Enjoy and let me know what you think.

* * *

Ordinary's Just Not Good Enough  
Chapter Four

_Do you worry that you're not liked  
__How long 'till you break  
__You're happy 'cause you smile  
__But how much can you fake  
__An ordinary boy  
__An ordinary name  
__But ordinary's just not good enough today_

* * *

_How did he even get inside, he wondered as he looked down at the keys he held in his hand. Yup, those were his keys, and that was his hand, and those were his fingers...was there something wrong with them? They didn't look like his fingers. It didn't look like his hand, but he could vaguely feel the metal of the keys, at first cool, then warming, pressing into his skin. He nodded his head and groaned when the black spots appeared in front of his eyes. Not good, he told himself. Just don't nod, and you won't see the spots anymore._

_A deep sigh and he put the keys back into his jacket pocket before heading towards the living room. His walk was somewhat drunken, but he didn't notice it. His mind didn't register the fact that one hand brushed against the wall as he stumbled around, bouncing against the smooth wall every now and then. "Yup, I live here," he whispered to himself when the familiar furniture swam in front of his eyes. "This is mine. All mine," he continued in the same, breathy, sing-song voice. _

_He noticed that he felt too hot. Have to take the jacket off, he told himself, and he did, fighting with it for a moment before throwing it over the arm of the couch. And now his feet felt heavy. Couldn't lift them anymore. He leaned heavily against the wall as he tried to kick off his shoes, before he succeeded, kicking them under a nearby table. It felt like he had no energy left in his body any longer, and he turned his head towards the wall he was leaning on, resting his forehead against the coolness. He moaned lightly, closing his eyes for a moment as the whole room began to shift itself in front of him. "This isn't good," he told himself, before rolling his head a little, forehead still against the wall. "No, not good. Need help."_

_Well, shit, he realized. Where the hell was he going to get help from? Call Grissom, but why would he ever care, he thought bitterly. God, he tried to do everything...EVERYTHING...that he possibly could for the man, and nothing made him happy. Nothing made him tell Greg that he had done a good job and to keep up the good work. Unknowingly, tears raised in his eyes. No, don't think about it, he told himself. Don't think about the disappointment. You're just not good enough for him. And you'll never be good enough._

_He could call Nick or Warrick, sure, but they didn't give a shit, either. Of course, at least they realized that he was even alive. No, don't bother them. They would probably see his name and number of their caller identification screens and ignore it. _

_His head began to pound._

_Sara...why the hell was he even thinking of Sara. No, there was only one other person that he could think of, only one person that would help him. Got to call Catherine, he thought. Catherine will know what to do. She's a mother. She knows these things. Damned flu. _

_Now that he had a plan, he slowly opened his eyes and turned away from the living room. He could feel that familiar, gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach and for a moment, he paused, cocking his head to the side, looking for all the world like an inquisitive little boy. Maybe he should eat first...no, just the thought of food brought that acidic taste back to his mouth and he swallowed thickly, wondering if he was going to throw up. No, call Catherine. She'll tell you what to do. She knows everything, knows it all. Because she's a mother. Yeah, that's what he had to do. He had to call her._

_He looked down at his feet and commanded the right one to move. It did, shuffling forward for half a step, before the movement died. Okay, that was all right. Now, the left. That one slid forward as well, and for a moment, he thought he was going to lose his balance, what with sliding his sock clad feet on the floor, but he remained upright, no matter how much he wanted to lay down._

_Maybe that was a better idea. Just lay down and close his eyes. Ignore the fact that this day had ever happened. Every thing's better when you wake up, he reasoned, nodding his head again. He didn't remember not to, and he groaned and clutched his head when everything began to swim again. No, got to stay awake. Don't pass out. Bedroom's just ahead. But if he wanted to make a call, why didn't he just use his cell phone. Where was his cell phone? He couldn't remember, even though his hand went down to his hip pocket unconsciously, fingering the slim phone that was there. There's a phone in the bedroom, use that._

_Walk forward. One step, two steps, three steps...wow, he could count. He giggled to himself as he finally made it to the closed bedroom door, resting his hand on the knob. So cool, nice and cool. His skin felt hot. Did he have a fever? Well, of course he did. Whenever he had the flu, he had a fever. That only made sense. He turned the knob and swung the door open, bouncing it against the door a little hard. It hit the little stopper that was screwed into the wall and came towards him again, slowly. _

_Oh, the room was cool and dark. Nice. Perfect to sleep. Just want to sleep. Don't want to call Catherine anymore. Nope, sleep would be better. Don't have to bother her. _

_Yes, have to bother her. Need help. You need help._

_He closed the door behind him and sighed. Now, he didn't just feel feverish. His body felt heavy, like it wasn't going to move. But it had to. The phone was on the other side of the bed, the further side of the bed, and damn it, that was his favorite side to sleep on, too. Just think, he told himself. Nice, cool sheets. Should have washed them, he thought, a frown on his face. They need to be washed. Do it when you get up. Just sleep. Or phone. Whichever. Doesn't matter._

_His feet caught on a shirt that was laying on the ground, and he stumbled forward, hands out to break his fall. Caught a piece of the mattress, enough to keep him somewhat upright. He moaned again, this time longer and louder, his head spinning and pounding. He could hear his heartbeat, furious and loud, as he tried to straighten up. Nope, it ain't happening, Greggo, he thought to himself before giggling. Instead, he continued to move, half hunched over. He made his way around to the far side of the bed and opened his eyes cautiously, looking down at the hardwood floor. Maybe he should talk to the landlady about getting some carpet in there._

_Bed or phone. Phone or bed. He had to decide. Finally, he settled on the phone, and he snapped his head up, straightening his folded body, reaching for the phone on the bedside table. But the movement was too quick for his weak body, and immediately, he could feel whatever piece of consciousness he had begin to slip away from him. No, didn't like this. Not nice. Scary. His world turned black slowly, oh so slowly, before he felt his knees buckle. Unable to stop, he thudded against the hardwood floor, barely registering the indignant shout from the apartment below him. A final moan, and his eyes slid shut languidly, before he slumped forward, his body falling onto the floor. _

_And then Greg just lay there. _

* * *

Catherine remained where she was standing, staring down at the face-down body, before shaking her head. "Holy shit," she muttered again, beginning to feel the panic building in her body. She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, keeping her eyes on Greg's prone body, before snapping into action, working on auto-pilot. She was a criminalist, after all.

Very carefully, she picked her way around the clothing and magazines that littered the floor near her, before sinking down to her knees beside him. On her hands and knees, she leaned over him so that she could see towards his face, unable to see anything but a small red spot on his forehead. Probably when he fell, she thought to herself. She bit her lip, not wanting to move the young man. She didn't know what had happened to him, and didn't know if there was any kind of neck injury. She decided to leave him where he was, before pressing two fingers to the side of his neck, closing her eyes in relief for a moment when she felt his weak pulse against her skin. At least he was still alive, she told herself, before mentally cursing herself for thinking something like that.

"The flu, my God damned ass," she whispered to herself, before curling her fingers in towards her palm and moving her wrist so that it was situated under Greg's nose. Very faintly, she could feel his breath against her skin, but it seemed barely there. Removing her hand, she leaned back and rocked on her heels for a moment before realizing that her phone was still on, and his was still ringing. She shut hers off, and waited a second before dialing 911, keeping her eyes on the young man.

"911. What's your emergency?"

Ah, those blessed words. "This is CSI Catherine Willows, with the LVMPD. I need an ambulance immediately," she said, before rattling off Greg's address. There was a slight pause before the dispatcher came back on the line. "I don't know what's wrong with him, okay? He passed out. Just get them here as soon as possible," she growled before hanging up, dropping her phone beside her. Reaching out, she ran a hand along his forehead, before skimming it over his hair. "What did you do to yourself, Greg?" she asked softly, before reaching blindly onto the bed, pulling down a blanket. She covered him and sighed, bringing a hand up to rub her eyes.

Greg, unconscious, didn't answer her. What, did she think that he was going to pop up and yell, "April Fool's, Catherine," with that mischievous glint in his eyes and the uneven, endearing grin that used to be permanently stamped on his face. Instead, he remained the way he was, half face down, half curled on his side, almost looking like he was peacefully sleeping. Whatever was wrong with him, she only hoped that he felt as peaceful as he looked at the moment.

She rocked back on her heels and began to think like any mother would. What had he been doing lately, what kind of trouble could he have gotten into. Had she been the only one to really notice the signs that something had been wrong with him? No one else had really commented on his pallor, his attitude, his general appearance, unless it had been in passing. Another sharp stab of guilt hit her directly int he stomach and for a moment, she wondered if she was going to throw up. They were all around him, hell, they saw him more often than they saw the members of their own family, but they had never really seen him, had they? They had never really paid attention to him. He was there to give them results, to cheer them up a little with his oddball quips, but other than that, he was just another drone at the lab, one that they had never really bothered with before.

Well, it was different now, she vowed to herself. She was going to do her damnedest to change all of that. If she had to grab Nick and Warrick by the shirt collars and throw them against a wall to get them to cooperate, and maybe, just maybe, spend a little time with the kid, she would. It shocked her to realize that, out of all the times that they had all gone out, whether as a large group or in sets of two, they had never once asked Greg to come along. They had just walked right by him, or worse yet, sat beside him and talked about their plans without stopping to think that maybe he would like to come along as well. Stupid, she told herself. We were stupid, and inconsiderate, and no better than high school bullies.

And where the hell was that damned ambulance? She knew that the response time for a person who was unconscious but breathing was ridiculous, but as a mother, she was worried. And this wasn't even her kid, although it had seemed like she had adopted him as of late. And finally, just when she was about to snap and call the dispatcher again, she saw the flashing lights through the window in Greg's bedroom. She straightened up when she heard the footsteps on the stairs and stepped out to let the paramedics know where he was. She remained standing in the open living room, listening as they took his vitals, put him on a chair that converted into a stretcher, and snapped an oxygen mask over his face. They informed her of where they were taking him and left her standing there, running a hand through her hair.

This wasn't what she had had in mind for her morning.

It had been a good two and a half hours of waiting at the hospital before a doctor graced her with his presence. By then, she had gone through four cups of bad coffee, two bathroom trips, and more than enough minutes of rubbing her hands over her face, eradicating whatever traces of makeup she still had on after her long shift. She hadn't been able to pick up a magazine or a newspaper the entire time she was there, because that now familiar pain of guilt would hit her all over again. Instead, she had sat in the uncomfortable emergency room chair, shifting every now and then to get the blood flowing in her legs and backside, tapping her foot impatiently on the floor, and worst of all, she had actually paced a little.

The doctor, who had a name that she immediately forgot, sat down beside her, stretching his legs out. She knew that pose, had done it often enough at work when she had been on her feet for most of her shift. "Miss Willows, I'd like to ask you a few questions about Mr. Sanders." She nodded and waved a hand, telling him to get on with it. "Have you been noticing any changes lately in his behavior?"

Sure, she thought, just twist the knife a little more, buddy. Like it wasn't bad enough. But instead, she nodded. "For about a week now. He was pale, tired, not at all like himself. He said that he had the flu. Was it just the flu?"

The doctor shook his head. "Mr. Sanders is in a state of dehydration and slight malnutrition. In fact, he was bordering on severe dehydration when he came in here. For something like this to happen, he would have been denying himself food or drink for awhile now. It's been catching up with him, obviously. And to top it off, it doesn't look like he was sleeping all that much."That floored her. If she had been standing, she would have had to sink down into a chair. Thankfully, she had cut out the middleman and was already sitting. "All of what you've described are signs of those problems, but like you said, they also look like the flu or something not as dangerous."

She blinked her eyes a few times, waiting for her mind to catch up with the news that she had just been given. "So, it's serious, then," she murmured. "How bad is he?"

"Well, he was dehydrated enough to cause his blood pressure to drop. Most likely, he was experiencing lightheadedness, dizziness, especially when he was standing. He's anemic because of the self-induced starvation, which isn't that uncommon, but it doesn't help. When you came upon him, his body had gone into shock, because it was the only thing that it could do to survive. If it had been six or seven hours later, I believe that his organ would have begun to fail him. He's very sick. At the moment, however, we're giving him an iron supplement, and we're giving him both nutrients and electrolytes in hopes that we can reverse the effects."

Her eyes widened. "What, you think that you can't?"

"No, I'm sure that we can, it just depends on how his body reacts to this." The doctor paused for a moment, and then looked towards her. "You wouldn't happen to know if Mr. Sanders was doing this purposely to himself, would you?"

The question probably should have been phrased more delicately, but it would have pissed her off anyway. "Greg would NEVER do this to himself. Yes, I admit, he has a stressful job, and that's probably the cause of this, but...to ask me if he would starve himself to death? You've got to be fucking kidding me." She was swearing again. "This is a young man with his whole life ahead of him. He wouldn't dare." The fight drained from her body and she leaned back in her chair, mind racing. Yes, he was a person who craved attention, liked to be in the limelight, but that didn't mean that he could be capable of something like this...could he?

No, she answered herself. He couldn't do that. Never.

"I'm sorry to upset you, Miss Willows, but I have to ask these things so that I know what's going on."

"I understand. I understand better than you think," she said lowly, blinking her eyes and fighting a yawn. "Like I said, Greg has a stressful job, and it doesn't help that it's basically graveyard shift. By the end of the night, we're all too tired to eat, and we usually wait until when we wake up. We've all skipped meals in the past, but...but to let it go this far. I just can't see it." She paused and tilted her head towards him. "Could I go in to see him?"

He nodded. "We've moved him up to the ICU for now, but I don't think he'll be there that long. Like you said, he's a young man, he'll bounce back in no time. But yes, feel free to visit with him. Just don't be alarmed by the IV and all the machines we've hooked him up to."

She waited until he left to go for the elevator and jabbed the button for the Intensive Care floor, again tapping her foot as she waited to get to the floor she had selected. Once the doors opened, she pushed past the mass of people to get out and went up to the nurse's desk, waiting for the directions to Greg's room. The nurse led her there, admonishing her to remain quiet, because "the poor thing is still asleep", and that she could only stay in the actual room for fifteen minutes, but she was more than welcome to wait outside the room afterwards, and watch him through the glass window. Catherine took her seat beside the bed and just looked at the "poor thing".

His face was approximately the color of the hospital sheets and pillowcases, and she had never noticed before the bags under his eyes. He looked drawn and...old. He looked prematurely aged, that's what it was, she realized. For the full fifteen minutes, she remained at his bedside, not touching him, just examining him and feeling her heart fall little by little with the discovery of every new line on what should have been his normally young-looking face.. When her time was up, and the nurse came in to let her know, changing the "poor thing" to "poor dear", Catherine walked out and stalked over to the nearest pay phone, digging in her purse for change.

Her anger began to take her over, and she knew just who she was going to direct it towards.


	5. Chapter Five

Title- Ordinary's Just Not Good Enough

Author- pepsicolagurl

Rating- PG13 for language.

Disclaimer- The usual bits. See Chapter One for your non-litigation information.

Author's Notes- Wow, you guys. You're all making me blush over here. It's nice to see so much interest in such a small story. I'm glad that you're all enjoying it. And yes, I'm updating sooner than expected. I've gotten my drive back for the story. We'll see what happens. Thanks for all the reviews, and here's hoping that you like the new chapter. And a big **_WARNING_**, to everyone, this chapter contains some out-of-character conversation (remember, everything is seen as Greg's point of view, thoughts, etc., so it's supposed to be out-of-character), and some choice swear words, but there was no reason to up the rating for a little 'f' word or two. Enjoy and let me know what you think.

Ordinary's Just Not Good Enough  
Chapter Five

_Do you worry that you're not liked  
__How long 'til you break  
__You're happy 'cause you smile  
__But how much can you fake  
__An ordinary boy  
__An ordinary name  
__But ordinary's just not good enough today_

* * *

She was like a woman on a mission. Her eyes were even brighter than normal with her anger, as she stomped down the hallways of the lab, her body moving gracefully as she avoided running into other people, twisting around the familiar corners. Her hair blew out behind her in soft waves as she increased her pace, her target coming into view. Without thinking, she made her way up to the man and grabbed him by the arm. "We need to talk," she ground out, pulling on the appendage in her grasp. He was surprised by the contact and followed willingly as she led him to his office like he was a wayward young boy and she was an angry mother.

As soon as they were in the dark office, she used her foot to close the door behind him, and reached for the light switch. The overhead fluorescent lights began to hum and flickered for a moment before they began to illuminate, barely brightening the room at first. "Do you ever answer your phone when you're not working?" she began, crossing her arms under her breasts and slumping. Even with her not standing to her full height, she seemed taller and more powerful than him.

"I take it that you called," Grissom responded, reaching to straighten out the arm of the shirt she had wrinkled.

"Yes, I called. I called everyone and you were the only one that I couldn't get ahold of. You have no idea what's going on, do you. Well, pull your head out of your ass, Gil, and look around you. Haven't you noticed anything different today?"

He fought the smirk that wanted to break out on his face. There was only one person that he allowed to talk to him like that, and only because that he never would have been able to stop her to begin with. And he had seen that look on her face before, that same look of anger and disappointment. He wished that the look hadn't been directed at him, but it was no use. She thought that he had done something wrong, even if he didn't know what it was. "I'm not playing guessing games, Catherine. What do you want to say to me?" It was better to just cut to the chase. The sooner she got it out, the sooner she would leave him in peace.

Her eyes narrowed. "Normally, you'd jump on his ass if he wasn't at work on time, but today, not even a mention of Greg not being here?" She chuckled bitterly at the look on his face. "Yeah, you can check the lab for yourself, but Greg Sanders isn't here, and he won't be for awhile. If you had answered your God damned phone last night, you would know that."

He sighed lightly when he heard that name. He thought that Greg Sanders was a hell of a worker, one of the best technicians that he was able to lay his hands on. There seemed to be no limit to what he wanted to learn, but Grissom had come to understand that as good of a worker he was, he was also a troublemaker. Whether he was late, or making mistakes...plain and simple, he caused trouble. The young man just seemed to welcome it. "Well, I didn't. What is this about, and why would you know that Greg isn't coming to work."

"Because I'm the only one that's tried to give half a shit in the past few days," she hissed, hair falling in her eyes as she leaned towards him. She shook her head to move the fallen locks out of her way. "And even I couldn't help him. I saw what was happening to him, and I tried to help, but no one else..." With a huff of impatience, she dropped her arms from where they were and let them fall back to her side. "You looked at him every single day, and you never SAW him, did you?"

"Catherine-"

"He isn't even awake yet," she said softly, lost in her own thoughts for a moment before she looked over at him, a frown on her face. "You've been running him ragged, Gil. We all have. None of us have noticed how much we depend on Greg, and maybe now that he's gone, you will. Maybe we all will. He's been pushing himself to do more than his job, and no one has noticed. He's always here before any of us show up, and he doesn't leave until everyone's gone. He's worked double shifts...hell, he's worked triple shifts to catch up on everything that's on his desk. Haven't you seen what it's done to him?"

He nodded sharply. "Yes, it's caused him to make mistakes in his work. We can't have mistakes here."

Her eyes widened slightly. "I always knew that you were aloof...cold in some way, but this is just plain heartless. The poor kid was exhausted. He hasn't been eating, he hasn't been drinking anything...I found him unconscious in his apartment this morning, barely breathing. The doctor said that if I hadn't shown up when I did, if no one had shown up, he wouldn't have made it. And you know what really tops it, Gil? Do you? The fact that no one cared. No one even stopped to ask him how he was doing."

"Now, that's not-"

"Not true? Don't give me that shit," she snapped, before taking a deep breath, trying to regain her composure. When she began again, her voice was soft. "He's been sick, he's been tired, and he's been depressed, and no one thought to ask how his day was going, or if he wanted to grab a bite to eat. Don't get me wrong, I'm just as much to blame as everyone else here. I never paid much attention to him, either, but at least I tried to do something during the past few days. He could barely stand when he came to work the other day, but everyone just assumed that he had gone out the night before and was hungover. That's exactly what Nick told me last night. He must have been hungover. He assumed, he didn't ask. No one did. You never did."

Grissom was silent for a moment, examining the look on the woman's face, before deciding how to answer. He didn't want to offend her any more than she already was. "I'm not his father, Catherine. I'm his supervisor. That's all. What happens outside of work is none of my concern."

"Yeah, no shit. That's not the way that it should be. Would it really kill you to stop for all of thirty seconds and ask how everyone is doing? No, you expected Greg to just work through his breaks so that he could finish up all of your damned precious paperwork, when you don't do your own half the time. He only took a break the past few days because I forced him to, and the moment I left the room, he was back to work. Haven't you seen any of this? Haven't you noticed anything?"

"It's not my job to coddle him," Grissom explained calmly. His words had been a mistake, he realized, as he saw her face begin to turn colors. It started with a delicate rose shade, and up the red spectrum until there were two crimson spots on the crest of her cheeks, the rest of her face turning white.

She took a deep breath, reminding herself to remain calm. "You're not supposed to coddle him. He's not a child, but what he is, Gil, is a young impressionable man. He takes your word as gospel. He thinks that because you're not happy with him, he has to keep striving to do better, risking his health to do that. He had a breakdown, did you know that? I found him face down in his apartment, unconscious, barely breathing. He's exhausted, he's dehydrated, he's malnourished, and he still hasn't woken up. I had to call his parents to have them fly out and sit by his bedside." Her voice dropped to almost a whisper. "He could have died, Gil, and you're telling me that it's none of your concern?"

The office filled with an uncomfortable silence, Grissom finding himself uncomfortable and wanting to shuffle his feet. "What happened to him obviously happened when he wasn't at work, therefore-"

"Don't give me your 'therefore' bullshit. He looks up to you, can't you understand that? You're a father figure to him, he thinks you can do no wrong. He wants to make you happy, and all you do is glare at him and tell him how much of a fuck-up he is. He's young, he makes mistakes, just like all of us do. You don't threaten to suspend any of us when we make the rare mistake, so why do you feel the need to do that to Greg?" She stopped and raised her hand the moment his mouth opened. "No, you know what? I don't want to know. I don't want to hear your pathetic excuses anymore. I'm no better than the rest of your precious crew. But at least I noticed when he was getting bad. You...you just turned a blind eye to everything, and that is disgusting. Absolutely fucking disgusting," she hissed, before turning on her heel.

She flounced towards the door, stopping only when she heard his voice. "Is he...is Greg going to be okay?" Grissom asked quietly.

Her shoulders tensed, chin raised as she glared defiantly at the door. "I don't know. He'll be fine physically, that's what the doctor told me. But mentally? Who knows. And if you really want to know the answer to that question, why don't you ask him yourself. After he regains consciousness." Opening the door, she walked out calmly and even closed the door softly, forcing a smile for a passing lab tech.

Catherine hadn't screamed at him, like she had wanted to. No, but she did get some frustrations out, and that made her feel worlds better as she made her way towards the break room, looking around her. She couldn't help but wonder how many other people around her, that she worked with every day, had ever gotten close to the low level that Greg was now at. They all worked hard, they all neglected breaks from time to time, but did anyone really know what they were doing to their bodies? She was just as guilty as anyone else for skipping breaks and pushing herself to the limit, and unlike some of the people in the lab, she had something to go home to: a young daughter that depended on her.

In the break room, she poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down at the table, staring down at it morosely. She had been right when she had told Grissom that she was no better than the rest of the graveyard shift when it came to Greg. She only noticed what was going on when it was too late. But at least she was trying to change that. No one else seemed to care.

* * *

She peeked in the doorway to the hospital room, ready to step back if there was someone else in there. Thankfully, it was only Greg, now with his eyes open, staring at the ceiling. "Hey," she said quietly as she stepped into the room. smiling for his benefit.

His eyes went towards her, and Catherine could see the shame and embarrassment that he was trying to hide. "Hey," he said quietly, nodding at her as she took the chair near his bed. "I heard that you're the one to blame for putting me in here."

A single brow arched as she regarded him quietly. His color had started to come back, and he had begun to catch up on the missing sleep, making him look a little better. It was the dark look in his eyes that bothered her, however. "It's better than the alternative," she bantered back, her heart not in it at the very least. "How are you feeling?"

He shrugged, struggling for a moment before he propped himself up against the simple headboard of the hospital bed, his fingers playing with the blue blankets that was over top of him. "Tired and sore. They said that I would feel like that for awhile," he said softly, before sighing. "They also told me that I shouldn't eat anything heavy for awhile, and that I have to keep this stupid IV in. They let me have some water, though. Just a little."

The small voice he spoke with made her breath catch in her throat for a moment. She could just envision Lindsay in Greg's place, her own little girl laying in a hospital, scared, upset, and frightened. Greg looked like a lost little boy, so unlike the confidant young man he had been when he first started at the lab. Nothing like the always grinning jokester that tried to brighten their day a little. He had grown up so much in so short a time, and yet, he seemed so damned young. "That's good," she answered lamely, matching his sigh with one of his own. "You had us all worried."

"Liar." He turned to look at her again, and now SHE felt unsure of herself, biting her bottom lip with his frank, brown eyed stare. "Why are you lying for them? Are you trying to make me feel better or something, because I know the truth. And I really don't care anymore."

"You don't mean that." And her mothering tone had come back into play, she thought ruefully as she pushed her hair out of her face.

His shoulders moved in a shrug. "Just returning the favor. Least, that's how I figure it."

She leaned back in her chair and looked away from him for a moment. "Giving them a taste of their own medicine, huh? Do you really think that it would matter? If they don't care, like you say, why do you think they would care about how you treat them?" She smiled at the crestfallen look. "You're better than that, Greg. You know that you are, so why are you trying to convince yourself to get down to their level? It doesn't make sense."

"What, I can't be mean?" he protested, tossing her a more familiar look. One that she could only call mirthful. Whether he was acting like this for her benefit or not, she appreciated the effort. There was nothing like seeing that spark of life in his eyes again. But it died away soon enough, replaced by that haunted, dark eyed look, one that she hoped wasn't going to become normal for him. "Look at me. Why shouldn't I be bitter?"

Her head cocked to the side slowly. "You know, normally I'm the first person to tell someone to stop having their own personal little pity party, but in this case, I think it's justified. Greg, no one did this to you, but you. You're the one that ignored the signals that your body was sending you. You're the one that ran yourself into the ground. No one else did it to you. You're the only one to blame for being in the hospital. It wasn't like any of us were pushing the food away from you. It wasn't like we refused you a drink of water. YOU were the one that didn't eat or drink. YOU were the one that wouldn't sleep. YOU were the one that had the breakdown."

"That's going a little far," he commented dryly.

"No, not really. Look, I don't know what your problem is, Greg. Physical, mental...whatever. You broke down. You pushed yourself too hard, and you burnt out. It happens to the best of us-"

He crossed his arms, giving her an incredulous look. "Is it show and tell time? Are you going to tell me the story of your burn out? Because you haven't, Catherine. I know you haven't. You're the one that has it all together. Whatever you go through with Lindsay, or Eddie, or whoever, you make your way through it. So don't tell me that you've been in this position before."

She shook her head. "No, but I've seen plenty of good people who have been. Criminalists, lab techs, cops...we all have the same problem. We all push ourselves harder than we should. It just caught up with you. You're a smart guy, Greg. You don't deserve what happened to you, but at the same time, as horrible as it sounds, maybe it'll help you put everything into perspective. You don't have to be perfect."

"What is this, the after school special speech?" he joked, the smile dying off of his face when she didn't laugh or even smile. "You don't get it, Cath. Everyone expects me to be perfect. I'm not allowed to make mistakes, remember that?"

She shrugged with a smile, her eyes dancing. "So, just tell Grissom to shove it the next time he bugs you about it," she suggested, grinning when she heard him try to hide his chuckle. "Okay, so you don't want to go to that extreme, but still. There's no reason for him to treat you like that. There's no reason for any of us to treat you like that. It's just...you have to understand why we act the way we do. Doing what we do, it's easier for us to be around people that see the same things, that do the same things. You're detached from that, because you're in the lab all the time. You don't see what we see. You don't see the mutilated and violated bodies. You see the blood samples, the hair samples...you don't get the whole picture, like we do. That's what the problem is. But it shouldn't be like that."

"You're telling me," he said dryly.

"in our eyes, you're an outsider looking in. Sad, but true. It's been that way for years. Maybe you're going to be the one to change all of that."

He turned away, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. "Why, because I was the idiot that worked myself into the ground and ended up in the hospital?"

"Because you showed us that you're just as screwed up as the rest of us. Come on, Greg. You were always there, working away, like normal. You were Greg Sanders, that guy that does DNA. You're just as human as the rest of us now. Just as screwed up as we are. We all try to be perfect, but we've learned that we can't be. Now, you've learned the same lesson." She dipped her head slightly, looking down at her lap. "Welcome to the real world."

"I'm not sure that this is the kind of welcome I wanted," he told her, before yawning. His face flushed again.

"Yeah, that's part of being human, too. I'll let you get some sleep," she said, before standing up. Her eyes followed his movements as he slid down in the bed, taking the pillows with him. She waited until he was comfortable, before heading towards the door. "So, I'll expect you back at work in two weeks, acting like the real Greg. Or else I'm going to be angry, and believe me, after today, no one wants to see me angry again."

He chuckled tiredly from the bed. "I can't be someone I'm not, Cath."

"No, I just expect you to be who you are."

And with a final smile over her shoulder, she walked out and closed the door behind her.

**The End.**

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_Well, in a way, it's the end. There is a sequel in the works, but with work and the rest of real life coming up and kicking me in the ass, I don't know when it's coming out. If you're interested, I'd say the best thing to do is to email me, so that I know who you are, and I can email you back when I get around to posting it. And of course, any ideas, all of which will be credited if I really like it, would be welcomed._

_I have to say that this was probably the hardest story that I ever wrote, and this is coming from someone that has, at one time, written thirty plus chapter stories. For some reason, as much as I loved Ordinary..., it just didn't flow like the rest of my stories did. But I fought through it, and even though it took me two years and some, I finally finished it (let's all cheer now). I wanted to take the time to thank every single person that has reviewed and pushed me into writing the new or next chapter. I never expected this little story to have as much interest in it as it did. But I'm grateful for all the support that you've all given me. _

_Although I'm sad to see this end (even if it didn't go in the direction it was originally supposed to), I can't wait to get around to the sequel, and I promise, I'll try to be better about writing and updating than I was with this story. _

_Hope to see you around the next time!_

_pepsicolagurl_


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